Not so far away, in a land of fog, ocean and mountains, there is a little city known as San Francisco. Just to the north, on the opposite side of the Golden Gate Bridge, in Marin County General Hospital, on April 2, 1980, you would have found me, debating with my mother on why I should leave the womb when it was significantly warmer and more comfortable than the outside world. We had already been at it for nearly 24 hours, and I was obviously winning, because she had to call in back up. Unfortunately, I lost the argument with the doctor, who, with the aid of some forceps and a medical Exacto knife, dragged me out into the cold, sterile, flourescent world. Needless to say, I was bitter, and wanted back in. That’s around the time I started to scream.
Several years later, I calmed down enough for my parents to divorce (a god-send), and wander off to school, 5 days a week, unless I could find an excuse (that my mother would buy) for me to get out of it. Summer camp occupied the few precious months when I was outside of the yoke of schoolwork imposed by my teachers there. Generally speaking, when I wasn’t at school, and I had time to myself, I was a happy kid. Books, music and pets were my life. Of course, I had always wanted an older brother, but I stopped asking for him when I was about 5 and discovered that older siblings were an impossibility. So I grew accustomed to being an only child. I guess its better to be the best child by default than nothing at all.
School and camp both taught me that music is life. Theater, too, was much fun. Unfortunately, stage fright is a bitch, and a constant battle that I always lost. Solo performances and fevers/strep throat scares went hand-in-hand with me, so unless I was singing with a group, it wasn’t my style. Camp was the only exception to that rule: I could lead circle and campfire with the best of them. I was the best of them, in fact. One of the few things that I could do in front of people and feel nothing but elation. You haven’t been to a campfire until you have been to one of mine.
Middle school led to high school, and my camper status changed to counselor status not long after. In high school, I discovered the joy of tech–it was my way of being a part of theater without the panic I got from being on stage. The lights came on because of me, the sound was heard because of me, the sets changed because of me. I was called Stage Manager and I was no less than God up in that booth. Magic happened because I said “go.” Then, in the summer, I would sing and scream and play and was paid to have fun. Chaos reigned and I basked in the rays of that chaotic energy and was happy.
College was, well...an experience. And not the experience I had hoped for. I only managed to get through a year and half before I pulled the plug on the whole deal. Agnes Scott wasn’t too bad, I admit, but definitely not my gig. It is located just outside of Atlanta in a little town known as Decatur. Now, don’t get me wrong, Atlanta ruled, and some of the folks I met out there were pretty cool. However, the school was stifling, and I was miserable. Not to mention the fact that Southerners don’t think too highly of us Californians. Hollins was my next attempt at academia, and although the school wasn’t horrifying, the town was. Based in the lost colony of Roanoke VA, the campus was my home. Being as I was car-less, and the city itself boasted not a single public transportation vehicle, I was miserable and would have been quite happy hitch-hiking to Virginia Tech and staying there. And so, at the conclusion of my third semester in college, and a mere 8 majors later (Psych, Music, Philosophy, English, Comp Sci, Graphic Design, Creative Writing and Business), I concluded that perhaps I should go out and live life before I bounce to yet another major I wouldn’t be happy in. With that conclusion, combined as it was with my realization that Roanoke was the last colony because no one wanted to be there, I left.
And so I joined the slacker class of college dropouts, and quickly returned to my home state of California. I worked for In-N-Out Burger for nearly a year, and although they wanted me for management, I turned in my cheesy red and white hat for a temp job at a hospital in Oakland. There I learned many things that a twenty-something doesn’t really want to know, including daily updates on various coworkers hot flashes. I can handle paperclips flying into my cubicle, but having someone call you into theirs because they are possitive that the heater vent is directly over their desk can get tiring. My coworkers had more “power surges” in one day then all of Berkeley would have in the middle of a raging electrical storm!
It wasn’t long before I discovered some friends in the area, and soon we were all packing up and moving to Flagstaff, AZ. How we wound up here, and why, is too long of a story to get into now. Suffice it to say that I arrived, and after a bit of a struggle, set myself up at Barnes and Noble Bookstore. B&N was sort of a mixed blessing...I’ve since gotten sick of the work, but the good news is that if I can stick out until I move, I can go pretty much anywhere and have a guaranteed job. Very nice. So I continue to tough it out and struggle my way up the corporate ladder, and in the mean time attempt to discover the meaning of life, or at least find reason enough for my existence in Flagstaff so that I don’t go crazy before I can move out of this god forsaken town.
What the future holds for me is a mystery. Wishes, hopes and dreams of the past have either come true and disappointed or faded away so gradually that I haven’t even noticed their absence now that they are gone. With some hard core budgeting or a little luck from the lotto, I plan to return to my state of birth, and maybe even go back to school. With a lot of debating on my part, I have concluded that rather than finding a specialty that I adore, and majoring in that (since we have all seen where that has gotten me), I’ll double major in English and Business–each allows for a career in a variety of fields, so I figure with both under my belt, I’m armed and dangerous for pretty much anything. If I discover an untapped workaholic when I return to the land academia, I may even minor in Philosophy, since that is the closest one can get to a degree in arguing, short of law school. I like to win arguments, but I don’t like lawyers, so philosophy seems to be the logical route. Besides, I like it! More than that, who knows. A husband, a family, maybe a pet or two. Or six. No doubt critters (be they of the animal or mini-me variety) will abound, no matter where I end up.
Well, that's everything you ever wanted to know about me if you don't already know me. If you want a more detailed account of my life to date, including Saint Mark's, JCC day camp, Santa Catalina, San Jose Family camp, Agnes Scott, Hollins U, and Arizona, you might want to go to my other bio page. For all you folks who I know and yer wondering if you were mentioned in my page, that's where you would be. Unfortunately I couldn't put everyone in there, but I mentioned a few people from each place, so go check it out. And I guess that's me. My favorite movies, music, and jokes, are obvious from the focus of my other links, so if you want to know more about that aspect of me, that's where to go.